The Masters Mental Adjustment

Three years ago, Heather Bessette's coach convinced her to try to qualify for her second Olympic marathon trials. He took her back to the track for the half mile and mile repeats she ran a dozen years earlier when she set her marathon PR of 2:47.

But the now 47-year-old Bessette, who's won numerous races in Connecticut over the past two decades, including the 1996 Hartford Marathon, struggled to run faster than 90 seconds for each 400m, compared to the 74-second laps she remembered. "I still knew what work I had to do to get there. But my body was just not as capable as it once was. That was a lot to take," she recalls.

When Chris Weimar of New York City ran a 14:50 5K for Fordham University in the early 1980s, he remembers being able to run workouts of 12 x 400m in 65–67 seconds.

Today, the 48-year-old Air Force Reserve officer knows he'd be lucky to run one of those repeats in 75 seconds, even though he feels like he's in the best aerobic shape of his life and has qualified for April's Boston Marathon.

Bessette and Weimar are like most long-time competitive runners who, as masters, now run times much slower than in their heyday. They've added cross-training and core strengthening and incorporated weight lifting and drills into their schedule. They've improved their nutrition, are more systematic with their training and listen to their bodies better than they did in their 20s and 30s. They still train hard and are passionate about racing.

But no matter what they do, they know they'll never be as fast as they once were. A few have seen fellow competitors give up racing because they can no longer bear the thought of being passed by people they once easily beat. Nonetheless, they keep plugging along, even though they know the clock will always remind them that their best days are past.

Why do they keep going to the starting line? And how do they set meaningful and motivating goals in their new reality?

NEW DAY RISING

Paul Jacobson (pictured above, then and now), a 47-year-old high school teacher and cross country and track coach from Gaithersburg, Md., points out that his career at the University of Maryland, where he posted times of 14:40 for 5K and 31:10 for 10K, was just a small part of his running life. "With the talent I had, I feel the times I ran in college were the best I could run. I got the most out of the talent I had, and I'm still doing that now. I'm just trying to maximize what I have," he says.

For many masters runners, they take solace in the fact that their effort, especially in races, feels just as hard as it did when they were in their 20s and 30s.

"Whether it's 5:00 pace, 6:00 pace or 7:00 pace, the effort level feels the same. There's a comfort with that," says David Olds, a 49-year-old high school administrator and coach from Santa Monica, Calif., whose 2:13 marathon best came in 1987.

"That's how I judge myself: Am I still able to put myself into the same intensity level that I used to? I like to test myself and know that the answer is still, 'Yes, I can,'" says Olds, who's a long-time cross country and track coach at his school. "I can still dig down and go to that dark place."

Other masters runners have similar goals. While they still like to see where they finish in the overall field, they now focus on placing in their age group. Some take pride in beating younger runners, while others see themselves as role models for the high-schoolers they coach or the younger runners they battle with in races.

"I want to provide an inspiration for them so they say, 'Here's a guy my father's age who's running with us every day and pushing the intervals,'" says Jacobson, whose cross country team finished second in the Maryland state meet in November.

WHAT A DIFFERENCE THE DECADES MAKE

Weimar says that, when he's out training now for the marathon, he often thinks about the workouts he did in college because the effort feels the same. "It brings back those memories. I think about what races I ran or times I ran but I don't beat myself up about it," he says. "I wonder what I would have run for the marathon back in my 20s. But you can't go back. You can only go forward."

Weimar, who has a Ph.D. in political science and is completing his second tour of duty in Iraq, says he's sometimes surprised by his performances now as his body has changed a lot since those college days. "I'm a lot different person now. But I'm OK with that," he says.

Besides his times, Weimer says there's one other big difference between collegiate and masters racing.

"When I ran in college, it was all about the competition. I had to pass this guy. I had to pass that guy. Now the question is, 'Where am I with my race? How is my pace? How am I doing?' I'm competing against myself," he says. "And I just feel blessed I can still get out there and run."

When Tim Smith of Norwich, Conn., ran his 2:23 marathon PR in 1983, he averaged 5:40 a mile. But while Smith still runs track intervals, tempo runs and repeats up the steep hills near his home, and dominates his age group in just about any race he enters, he wonders if he could run just one mile today at that pace. But Smith, who still hopes to run 6:00 per mile for 5K, says racing still gives him the euphoric feeling it always has.

"That's how I judge myself: Am I still able to put myself into the same intensity level that I used to?"

"In my dream world I still race the whole field. That's the goal I take to the starting line. We all take a bushel of goals to the line," he says. "But am I focusing on my age group? Yes, I am. And I like to see how I fare against the [younger] guys in the 50–59 age group, too."

Smith, a retired accountant who finished third in the 1975 New York City Marathon, believes everyone's body is meant to wind down. "It's just being able to accept what happens to you and being able to do what you can with it," he says.

He also sounds a bit like the late Steve Prefontaine when he talks about making the most of one's talents. "When I can race, I do. We're obligated to develop the gifts that we are given," he says.

Smith says he knows a few runners who feel that if they no longer can be the very best, they don't want to race. "That's quite a banner to carry. I don't like that one," he says.

Sitting at his kitchen table, Smith unfolds a piece of paper that he says helps guide his life. It's a poem about living a peaceful and virtuous life, called Desiderata by Max Ehrmann. With a thick scrapbook of newspaper clippings about his running exploits opened in front of him, Smith reads a few of the lines.

"Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth."

CARPEING EVERY DIEM

Olds (pictured below, then and now), a two-time Olympic trials marathon qualifier who finished seventh in the 1984 Boston Marathon, says he now struggles to run short cross country races at the marathon pace he ran a decade ago.

"But it doesn't help to compare yourself to what you used to be able to do. Why think about it? Just do the best you can," he says. "I love to compete and push myself, so I'll race whether I'm fast or not."

That philosophy ties in with the way Olds has always competed. "It's always been about challenging myself. I'd rather run fast and finish 10th than win a race. A world record to me is better than an Olympic medal," he says.

Olds says he now has to work hard to make his body feel comfortable at race pace, something he never had to worry about in his prime.

"I'm not trying to do the 6–8 x 800m workout I did in college. But I still need to do 6–8 x 800. Even though the pace has changed it's still the same workout. It's the same mental training," says Olds, who ran 2:34 at Twin Cities last year and is now looking forward to the 50–54 age group.

He says that working out with his high school runners and knowing he could still make his old high school team and maybe even his college squad at Princeton University helps keep him "in the game."

Jacobson says the one thing that has kept him going the past few years is that he's back running times he did in his mid-30s, helping him stave off the inevitable decline for a while. Last year he broke 5:00 for the mile for the first time in a few years.

"But for guys my age it's so hard to go fast. It was hard to get that speed back," says Jacobson, who feels fitter today than when he was a high-schooler running a 9:42 2-mile.

Jacobson says he's also motivated by seeing where he ranks among masters runners in the Mid-Atlantic region. "It bothers me less because I'm having success in my age group," he says about being slower than in his 20s. "My age group is what's important. Now I look around and ask myself, 'How old is that guy?' And it's still fun to beat the young kids." Jacobson also enjoys doing well in a race and then bragging about it to his high school team.

He says that he thinks the better a runner once was, the tougher it is for him or her to accept getting slower. "But I wasn't so good that running a 17:00 for 5K is bad," he adds.

Bessette (pictured below, then and now), who owns a fitness studio in Stonington, Conn., says it sometimes bothers her when people come up and ask if she's going to win an upcoming race because of her past victories.

"They expect me to still be able to run like that, and then when I race and my time isn't that good they ask me, 'Are you sick? Are you hurt?'" she says.

Like other older runners, Bessette feels like she's fitter than she was in her prime, especially since she teaches spin classes and strength trains with her clients.

She then points to an old framed magazine photo on the wall of her studio showing her racing side by side with former middle-distance star Alisa Hill. She says she wishes she had sat back at the time and enjoyed some of her victories instead of never being satisfied and planning for her next race.

Still, Bessette has accepted that she'll never be as fast as she once was. "Yes, you have to deal with being slower, but that doesn't mean you have to stay out of the game," she says.

That philosophy -- and a night of cleaning old food out of her refrigerator -- has led Bessette to launch a line of exercise clothing geared towards masters athletes called No Expiration. "Your body may age but your mental toughness doesn't have to expire," she says. "You can have that mental toughness no matter what age you are."

It's that toughness that her coach, former world-ranked 800m runner and two-time Olympian William Wuyke, pointed out when he asked her to try to qualify for the marathon trials. That effort in the fall of 2007 was derailed by a foot injury after she had notched a 1:25 half marathon on just a few weeks of intensified training.

"But I've accepted that I'm not where I used to be. But are we supposed to be? You might not be able to run as fast but maybe you can help a younger person who is getting into running," says Bessette, whose daughter competed for her middle school team last fall. "Maybe you can help out with a team. I'll be at expos with my clothing. You're still in the game but in a different way."

And even though she's slower, Bessette is still quick enough to beat a lot of younger runners.

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